


To Do

by bribitribbit



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-27
Updated: 2010-08-27
Packaged: 2017-10-11 06:46:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/109604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bribitribbit/pseuds/bribitribbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fifty things Remus Lupin wants to accomplish before he dies. Post-MWPP/Pre-Azkaban.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Do

Summer has always been too lonely for Remus's liking.

At every turn is more evidence of his friends' absence: the way his sandwiches are completely whole and untouched by anyone else's hands right until he takes the first bite, the way nobody is behind him giving a running commentary as he makes his way through Joyce and Kerouac, even the way fleas (something Padfoot has always had an unfortunate tendency to attract and spread) are entirely missing from his life at the moment.

It is even worse now, what with him and Sirius and something they've only recently discovered about themselves, and how none of them will be going back to Hogwarts in the fall, anyway, and the fact that James and Sirius are still off having adventures somewhere, and he's stuck editing his father's myriad of essays. Even Peter's got a real job—yes, it's just scooping ice cream at Fortescue's, but at least _he_ sees new people every day. Remus sometimes visits Peter there but the visits go by too quickly.

Remus remembers writing in his journal all his anger towards his parents; about how the editing job is clearly just another outlet for their overprotective inclinations and how they don't trust him enough to live on his own. He realizes now that it's only his own reluctance stopping him from moving out and getting his own life and everything. Not that his parents _aren't_ being overprotective—but he's far too grateful to them and how wonderful they have always been to throw it all away, which he is certain it would feel like.

Besides, he isn't exactly sure what to do without his friends. He's never been entirely dependent on them but life is, just, _odd_ without James, Sirius, and Peter flanking him. Remus Lupin is a tin of tea leaves, and that's all well and nice, and he smells lovely, but without the hot water, sugar, and cream, he's never going to be the British beverage of choice.

It's still June and he's read exactly thirty-four books since the end of school. Reading has never bored him before but then, before he used to read mostly textbooks and there was always homework to worry about. It was fun at first, reading for pleasure, but that, too, feels odd. The knowledge that he has nobody to report to, nobody expecting a foot-long essay on the many deaths in _Dubliners_, makes it seem sort of pointless.

He's tired of everything. He misses his friends and he misses Sirius's kisses and he misses having a to-do list.

And so, one disgustingly lovely summer's day which he can't spend on a picnic with Sirius or a game of Quidditch with his friends, he begins one.  


10 -- Attitude is everything: so KEEP CHEERFUL, even if you fail your science, your unit, get a hateful silence from Myron, no dates, no praise, no love, nothing. There is a certain clinical satisfaction in seeing just how bad things can get.

\- _The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath_

> _  
> 1\. Visit Paris.  
> 2\. Become a Renaissance man.  
> 3\. Learn how to knit. I can tell already that nobody may ever find this list lest I die in a fit of embarrassment and humiliation. Still, I've always wanted to learn how to knit. It seems so interesting, and it seems to make Mum happy._

  
The early July heat is terrifyingly vast. No matter where Remus hides—not in the basement with three fans and a cooling charm nor under the giant oak tree that until now has always given him even a tiny bit of respite—he cannot escape it.

He stays inside all day, which he hates. He was never the sort who liked to frolic in meadows all day with the butterflies and birds, but the house is much less vast than the heat, and Remus can't reach out a hand but he feels trapped by prison walls any other person would have thought were innocuous.

His mother's knitting circle is in the living room. He sits on the staircase with his father's latest essay on his knees, looking up every so often to watch the women through the wooden bars. Knit one, purl two. Knit one, purl two. Their conversation is fluid; entirely female and thus somewhat incomprehensible to Remus. He likes to hear the sound of it, however, and the soft, contagious laughter.

They begin to leave, one by one, leaving behind scents of eau de over-enthusiasm and that odd, all-knowing wisdom which ladies with unfinished knitting in their brightly-colored tote bags seem to have.

The last, gossipy Mrs. Rhonda Lane finally leaves after saying a cheery goodbye to Remus's mother, who smiles patiently and sends her off with a promise not to miss Mrs. Lane's grandson's school play and wishes that Mr. Lane gets well soon. His mother closes the door and he stands, his knees protesting, the feeling in his arse all off on holiday for a bit.

"Remus," says his mother, the tiniest bit startled. "Were you there the entire time?"

He stretches, suddenly exhausted. "Yeah," he replies. "Trying to finish Dad's new essay."

"How's it coming along?"

He glances down at the stack of paper on the steps beside his feet, and the red marks decorating the top page. "Fine, I guess. It's about what's underneath Gringott's and I haven't got a single idea what he's talking about half the time." Remus pauses. "Mum?"

"Yes?" She chooses a flower from a vase on the table in the foyer and sticks it behind her ear, and it is things like this that makes Remus love his parents and reassess any desires he may have to move out. He can't imagine having anyone else for a mother and father: not a magical mother, or a Muggle father, or two poets in love, or two circus performers.

"Do you think you could teach me to knit? Just for fun."

She looks up at him, appearing unexpectedly unsurprised. "I haven't taught anyone in a long time, and it'll be hard for you, without magic, I think," she says, "but I'm sure we could manage."  


>   
> _  
> 4\. Go dancing and not feel like a complete and utter idiot.  
> 5\. Visit the United States.  
> 6\. Visit Disneyland.  
> 7\. Finish _Anna Karenina._  
> 8\. Learn to play the piano.  
> 9\. Keep a pet for more than a month and a half (R.I.P. Ganymede, Corduroy, and Tiger Cat).  
> 10\. Kiss someone Sirius someone Sirius behind a waterfall.  
> 11\. Write a fifteen-page letter. To anyone._  
> 

  
Letters from his friends begin to pour in at an almost alarming rate. It's as if they have nothing better to do than write to him, which makes him feel a little better, at least.

James tells him about the evils of Auror training—_it's fuck bloody brutal, Moony, you have no idea, all I want to do is rest foreve_r—and asks after Lily, whom Remus sometimes visits and who always tells him that she's glad she chose to be a Healer as it's not half as hard as James and Sirius make Auror training sound—_tell her I love her, forever_. Forever has always been a very prominent theme with James.

Peter writes anecdotes about the diverse customers that visit the ice cream shop. He always remembers to tell Remus what this or that customer ordered, and his spelling is horrendous as ever. It makes Remus miss him even more. _Their was this bloke here the other day Remus, and he was wareing a dress. I didnt want to laugh to much but a DRESS mate. It had flowers and everything. Apparantly he isnt a new customer and he always wares a dress when he comes in but hes been gone since May to Greece. He got a marshmallow-blueberry cone._

Lily's letters are short and sweet and tinged with concern. _How are you holding up, Remus? Hang in there. I read Northanger Abbey like you told me to, but, really, I will never understand Austen. I must be the only girl in the world who hates to read romance._

But it's Sirius's letters he most looks forward to. They are always long and ambling and funny and oddly thoughtful and make Remus think of conversations they would have if they took daily walks amongst the green hills framing Remus's home. He makes sure not to leave any evidence of his reading and rereading, though by the end of the summer the creases will begin to tear and the edges will begin to fray.

_Remus,_

I should like you to know that James Potter is a dingleberry. That's it, I said it, and now the entire world knows. He has stolen my absolute favorite jumper, yes, that one, I knew your mind would jump straight to it, you dirty, dirty boy. Fortunately he hasn't so far asked about that stain on the left sleeve.

Yes, that stain.

Sometimes I regret Auror training. An entire month not only without firewhisky, salamander ice cream, sleep, and my beloved combat boots, but also without my Moony. I miss you, as I'm sure you know. But, god, it's sort of amazing, that weird feeling after a day of, I don't know, stupid drills and Moody getting on my case about my hair. I mean, it was just another day of, well, stupid drills and Moody getting on my case about my hair, but sometimes there's this weird sense of fulfillment. Like, I'm doing this for a reason. It's nights when I feel like that that I remember how much I want this.

Even if the food is haunted by evil spirits in the form of GHASTLY HORRIFIC BUGS.

I tell you the truth, dear lad. The food is haunted by evil bugs. You try to take a bite of, say, shepherd's pie or whatever the hell that lump of inedible disaster on your plate is, and a swarm of bugs flies into your mouth and tickles your tongue. Sometimes you accidentally swallow them, and O! the stomachaches, Moony. O! the diarrhea.

Things you want to know, right?

I'm still not sure where they have us headquartered. (Headquartered, is that a word? It should be if it isn't. Shakespeare made up words, you know. Multitudinous and—er, can't remember any of the others you told me, but, there, I've retained that much, clearly I am deserving of a blowjob and a statue in the middle of Diagon Alley but if not, at least a job-well-done and a pat on the back.) I've worked out that it isn't any of the following: France, as the people are far too hospitable; Mt. Everest, as none of us died trying to get here (I don't think so anyway); a forest, winter wonderland, or tropical island, as I have seen no proof of any; or a Muggle cinema, as there are no films and nobody fights with, what was it you said they were, light savers or whatevers.

And it isn't home.

If I was home, oh, my Moony, I would kiss you and kiss you and kiss you. Your lips, of course, but also your forehead and your eyelids and your neck, and the spot behind your ears, and the scar that runs along your chest, and the inside of your elbow, and your fingertips, and your knees, and your bellybutton, and everything else besides.

You are mine, mine, mine, and I am yours, yours, yours, and if you show this—or any part of you—to a single fucking person I will rip your soul out of your feet. Which is where I have always envisioned the soul belongs.

\- Sirius

P.S. I do, you know. That thing I told you. I do, and I will for a very, very long time, if not for always.

Remus likes curling up with the letters, smelling Sirius's homesickness and need all over them, closing his eyes and imagining what all those kisses would feel like. Daydreams give him the ability to ignore hours at a time.  


> _  
> 12\. Understand modern poetry. Eliot is a lovely poet but at least Keats makes sense.  
> 13\. Try to comprehend Peter's love for raspberry-peanut butter ice cream.  
> 14\. Send a message in a bottle.  
> 15\. Write a novel. It probably won't be very good or interesting, but it will be an accomplishment. It will show off the extent of my vocabulary, at any rate.  
> 16\. Successfully maneuver a broom just the way I want to.  
> 17\. Finish the scarf I'm working on before Sirius's birthday.  
> 18\. Allow myself to get wildly, absolutely, irrevocably drunk with James, Sirius, and Peter.  
> 19\. Finish a crossword puzzle. I never have and that's quite a pity._

  
"An eight-letter word for levitation," calls out Remus, whose feet are draped over the side of an armchair. _The Daily Prophet_'s Fiendishly Difficult Crossword lives up to its name, but he is determined to finish this one. Asking his friends for help isn't cheating, at least not in his book.

"Billywig," replies James quickly, scratching his ear.

"How are you so good at these, I'll never know," says Sirius, stretched out on the floor, tinkering with a pair of greasy handlebars.

"Mrs. Lupin is going to kill you if you mess up the carpet, mate," says Peter wisely, looking to Remus for confirmation.

Remus opens his mouth to agree but Sirius cuts him off with, "What, am I a legal wizard now or am I not? I'll clean it up with a charm or something."

"Your worst nightmare as a Bertie Bott's flavor. Six letters."

"Earwax," says Lily absently. "Agh. Not again." She is knitting—last week Remus taught her the basics he'd already learned—but she keeps dropping stitches.

It's July twenty-fourth, James and Sirius have a weeklong break from training, and Dumbledore has written each of them about something none of them can understand. Whatever it is, it sounds important.

James thinks it's something to do with the urgent headlines that have been all over _The Daily Prophet_ lately. If Remus folded back the issue on which he is now writing the word _WRONSKI_, he would see the latest, in boldfaced serif print on the front page, heralding the puzzling disappearance of one Benjamin Nott from the Department of Mysteries.

None of them will know for sure until Dumbledore arrives at four o'clock this afternoon and explains it all. Excitement rests deep in Remus's belly and anxiety sits on top.

Remus is distracted from his crossword puzzle for a moment when he notices that Sirius is staring at him. It isn't an overt sort of stare, eyes nearly hidden behind curling eyelashes that most of the girls Sirius used to date were jealous of. Remus licks his lips, just as covertly, and Sirius grins. Not so subtle, then.

They've agreed on not telling James and Peter just yet. Complicated and stuff, you know, and since his three friends arrived two days ago, Remus hasn't found a moment alone with Sirius. Sometimes Sirius brushes his hand purposefully against Remus's hip or Remus touches his fingers to the small of Sirius's back. It's enough—for now, anyway.

Dumbledore is scarily punctual: neither a second early nor a second late. As soon as the big hand turns to four on the clock in Remus's kitchen, the sound of a knock on the front door startles all of them. Remus hurries to greet his old headmaster, who looks as benevolent and omnipotent as ever, though the infamous twinkle in his eye has diminished just a bit.

Remus leads Dumbledore into the living room where his standing friends all greet him with "Good afternoon, Professor."

"Good afternoon, boys and Miss Evans," as he sits down on Remus's armchair. It doesn't matter; Remus wasn't headed for it at all. Everyone settles themselves back onto the sofa and floor and Remus sits down next to Sirius. He can see the hint of a smile in the corner of his eye.

"I hope you're all well," says Dumbledore, beaming at them. Each of them assents with varying degrees of feeling.

"I'm sure you've all been keeping up with the news in the _Prophet_," says Dumbledore. Suddenly, everything switches into Business Mode. Remus can feel how everything changes, suddenly. Peter stops reaching for the cookies Remus's mother has laid out on the coffee table.

Remus _hasn't_ been keeping up with the news, actually. It's always depressing, always bleak, and it never has any real relevance to his life.

That last part changes with the question Dumbledore asks them. The reason for his visit.

He tells them about the Order of the Phoenix, which later Peter always swears he thought was some kind of bird-watching society, and says he would like to initiate all of them into it.

They're all silent, trying to understand.

Dumbledore looks at Remus. "You—you're in danger, as both a half-blood and a werewolf." Sirius. "Blood traitor." James. "You're considered one, too." Lily. "Muggle-born." Peter. "Half-blood."

He steeples his fingers under his chin. "All of you, you and your families, are targets merely because of your blood. Something you cannot change. What Voldemort wants is nothing short of genocide. He wants to clean out the world according to his own standards."

Remus thinks of his parents, his mother's flowers and knitting circle, his father's aftershave and inexplicable fascination with wizarding architecture, and imagines a world where none of it exists. Just like that, all the things Remus has been avoiding—the multitude of disappearances that have been happening, the anonymous attacks on Muggle neighborhoods, all of it—it all crowds him so closely and abruptly he feels the wind knocked out of him.

Dumbledore gives them "time to consider," and promises to come back in a week. He leaves behind a wake of quiet.

"Hum," says Lily.

"Last word: like stone. Six letters," calls Remus.

"S-T-O-N-E-Y," says Peter.

"Lithic," answers Lily.  


> _  
> 20\. Climb a tree to the very top.  
> 21\. Find a four-leaf clover.  
> 22\. Get a tattoo. Perhaps matching ones for all the Marauders. I don't care how maudlin that sounds (i.e. very).  
> 23\. See a lunar eclipse. (This list is beginning to get very wistful and thus very unlikely.)  
> 24\. Eat an entire box of chocolates without anyone stealing any.  
> 25\. Cook a five-course gourmet meal. Or try to, anyway._

  
"Who knew you could cook," says Sirius.

"I can't," says Remus. "What you are eating is the sum of my mother's advice, a recipe book, and quite a few nifty spells."

Sirius grins around a mouthful of Rabbit Braised in Oregon Pinot gris and Rosemary with Gorgonzola Polenta. Actually, Remus isn't sure whether it tastes like Rabbit Braised in Oregon Pinot gris and Rosemary with Gorgonzola Polenta or if it even resembles it a little. But it turned out okay, which is all that matters.

After Dumbledore's unsettling news, James and Peter went their separate ways. To think, Remus supposes, though he for one is not hesitant in the least about joining the Order. James is either at home with his parents or discussing things with Lily. Peter has three days off from work and so he is home with his sisters.

And Sirius is here, at Remus's house. His parents are out for the night and it is exactly what Remus has been looking forward to for weeks.

Especially with the way Sirius's hand is resting on Remus's knee, and the way their eyes keep meeting. How everything, the house, the dinner, the songs Sirius hums when he chews, everything is Remus's secret—except instead of the sickening feeling the burden of a secret usually gives him, everything about this secret is sweet and delightful and something he could tell without very much consequence, but something he keeps to himself just because he can.

And, better yet, it's three more days before Sirius has to leave.

"Crème brûlée?" Remus, taking away the plate of—what is it, again—Rabbit Braised in Oregon Pinot gris and Rosemary with Gorgonzola Polenta, and replacing it with a ramekin. "I only made one, as by the time I'd figured out how to do it right most of the ingredients were all used up."

Sirius cracks the top layer with a spoon takes the first bite. He makes a face, as he is so good at doing. Remus looks at him expectantly.

"You're right," clarifies Sirius. Chokes, really. "You're horrible at cooking."

"No, I'm not, I was being modest. Let me have a bit."

Sirius hands over the spoon. Remus leans over him and tries the crème brûlée, bracing himself.

It is quite possibly the most disgusting thing he has ever tasted.

He looks over his shoulder at Sirius. "Tell me," he says, "that nothing else tasted this bad."

"Well," replies Sirius, "I'm not sure what the soup was. And the salad was iffy. And your rabbit bruised in Oregon with no grease was really just, you know, rabbit. Without the bruising. Good though."

"Did you like any of it?"

"I liked the rabbit."

Remus wrinkles his nose in disappointment and Sirius leans forward and kisses it.

"It's okay," says Sirius. "I've got chocolate." He pulls out a bar of Honeyduke's from his… Remus isn't sure, but it seems to come from his underwear.

"You have loin chocolate," says Remus blankly.

"It is werewolf bait," Sirius corrects him. "Or something. It's also a bit a squashy. Anyway, you like chocolate, don't you?"

"I love it, rather, but this is usually when I actually approve of its origins."

"Do you not approve of my loins?"

"Your loins are quite nice, I assure you, but not exactly the perfect place to store sweets."

"Shows what you know."

Despite the instinct he has bugging him about how unsanitary chocolate stored in a boy's boxers for who knows how long can be, Remus takes the chocolate and unwraps it. It's really nothing more than brown goo at the moment, so instead of doing what he normally would—breaking off pieces one at a time and savoring them each individually—he dips his finger into the goo and brings it to his mouth. Melted and unsanitary or not, it is still chocolate and it is still a Gift from God. Standing straight, he closes his eyes as he sucks every remnant off his finger.

When he opens his eyes, he sees Sirius staring up at him with a sort of impatient expression and just a bit of glaze in his eyes besides.

"What?" says Remus. He feels oddly self-conscious as he rarely does around Sirius.

"I'm going to snog you _forever_," says Sirius, and pulls him down to do just that.  


>   
> _  
> 26\. Get an autograph from a random stranger.  
> 27\. Join a book club.  
> 28\. Have my portrait painted.  
> 29\. Write an article for _The Daily Prophet._  
> 30\. Go scuba diving.  
> 31\. Get a real job. This is especially imperative._  
> 

  
"Remus! Bleeding—Remus, come here, I need your help!" exclaims Frank Longbottom from the main part of Sanderson's.

"Frank! What's the matter?" Remus calls out, quickly pocketing both the List (in his head he's taken to giving it a capital "L") and his pen as he stands and hurries to see what the matter is. He prepares for the worst as he strides towards the front of the bookstore, pulling his wand from his sleeve, taking deep breaths.

"Shipment of books, and I don't know the first bloody thing about where to put them or anything," is Frank's reply.

Remus sighs, releasing both annoyance and relief at Frank's "problem."

Frank looks startled at Remus's expression, which, if Remus knows himself, is probably tense and angry and stony. "Wait. Did you think…?"

"Yes, you idiot," says Remus, trying not to sound as irritated as he is. "Dumbledore put us here for a reason and I spend enough time worrying about it as it is."

If he hadn't been already, Remus would be forever dedicated to Dumbledore for having given him this job. Across the street and two houses down from the little Muggle bookshop is the Muggle Prime Minister's house, and it is Remus and Frank's job to watch over him and alert the Order should an attack transpire.

He supposes they must have been chosen because they each have so much experience with the Muggle world and are thus able to make the Prime Minister feel less anxious, but Remus likes to pretend that while Frank is the strength of the operation, _Remus_ is the brains. Frank's an all right chap but to tell the truth he doesn't know a single thing about books except that he'd rather not read them if he has a choice. Whereas Frank will fishmouth idiotically when a customer asks where a collection of Elizabeth Barrett Browning might be hiding, Remus can direct that customer to the exact shelf and, moreover, can quote and recommend his favorite poem and tell the customer how much he adores _Sonnets from the Portuguese._

Dumbledore can't have known how important this would have been to Remus. It gives him something to do so he doesn't have to think about how Sirius and James have qualified to go into the three-year Auror training and how he'll only see them once a month from now on. It finally feels as if he is _needed_, as if he is _valuable_, rather than as if he is an afterthought of his three friends.  


> _  
> 32\. Go skinny-dipping. Perhaps Padfoot will join me.  
> 33\. Beat James at chess. Just once.  
> 34\. Toss a pizza.  
> 35\. See London from underneath James's invisibility cloak.  
> 36\. Move into my own flat._

  
"Good ol' Moony," says Sirius, flopping down on Remus's decrepit, floral-patterned (possibly, once) sofa. It is his and James's monthly day off from Auror training. "I almost lost my bet to Prongs you'd be the last one to move out of your parents' house."

"Then again," says James, his voice betraying the fact that he is recently five Galleons less wealthy, "he only moved 'away' about a ten-minute walk."

"Just accept your loss, my good man, and your day shall soon be a brighter place."

The best thing about Remus's job at the bookshop is that, even though it is really an Order assignment, he still earns a salary. And he's been saving it, four months now, to rent his own flat. Yes, sure, it isn't very far from his parents' house, and, sure, it isn't like James and Lily's little place, all homey and clean, nor like Sirius's, the perfect bachelor pad. But it _is_ his.

"Gee, Remus, thanks a lot," says Peter. "You've gone and made me look bad."

"Aw, it's understandable, Wormtail," says Sirius, draping an arm around Peter's shoulders. "I mean, what are you going to do when you move out and then you wet your bed one night? You need to worry about these kinds of things."

Peter pokes Sirius's side. Sirius yelps and removes his arm and James makes a desperate choking sound that is half hidden laughter and half _I really want my five Galleons back._

"It's lovely," says Lily, putting the daisies she'd brought into a vase and setting it on the shelf (or, rather, the random length of wood nailed to a wall). There isn't much furniture: an old sofa his father had found in the shed, a table missing a leg and a half so that Remus had to place a spell on it so that it would stay upright, and his bed in the bedroom. His books are piled up everywhere and the majority of his possessions are stored in his Hogwarts trunk.

He _loves_ it.

Remus sits on Sirius's legs, which are wiggly and not very comfortable, considering. James and Lily sit cross-legged on the floor; Peter leans on the doorway between the kitchen and the living room. But for Sirius's struggles as he tries to pull his legs away and Lily's soft giggles when James tickles her, there is a comfortable silence as they stare round at Remus's new home.  


> _  
> 37\. Amass an enviable collection of swing records.  
> 38\. Learn German. Also, speak French more fluently.  
> 39\. Read the complete works of William Shakespeare.  
> _

Working in a bookstore, even if it's really nothing but a front, has given him wonderful opportunities for reading.

He's in the middle of _Macbeth_, act three, scene four when it happens. Later, the coincidence will haunt him and he will wonder what might it might have been like if he had been reading, say, _A Midsummer's Night Dream._

The sudden bang is unmistakable. Not three seconds after it reaches Remus's ears, Frank rushes out from the loo, his shirt untucked and his fly undone. "Let's go," he urges Remus, who is busy scrambling for his wand.

Frank is already out the back door and Remus follows closely behind. It is chaos outside: fire crackling, maniacal laughter, screams. He feels sick, sicker even than he felt after the first transformation. This is the first time they've attacked in broad daylight.

He glances up at the sky. It's only three-thirty—he has an hour or two yet until the moon begins to rise. He'd forgotten about the full moon tonight, and that realization makes him feel as if stomach has fallen out. It'll be a bit before he's truly dangerous but still, if—if he doesn't go now—it isn't as if he'll be much help tonight anyway, he'll be too weak. He's running out of strength as it is.

Frank pulls him aside into the alley next to the shop as three hooded figures glides past. The two men point their wands, Stupefying the Death Eaters as quickly as possible. Frank sends out his Patronus, a glittering white penguin.

"Frank," whispers Remus urgently. "I need to see Sirius. Or James or Peter."

He receives an odd glance but is reassured that they will be there soon. Indeed, the crack of Apparation begins to sound behind them.

Remus puts a finger to his lips and Marlene McKinnon nods.

"The Prime Minister is still inside the house," Frank informs everyone breathlessly. "We need someone fast."

The Prewett brothers offer themselves, hiding beneath James's invisibility cloak, and Marlene McKinnon and Elphias Doge follow them, aiming silent spells right and left. Remus watches this, waiting.

Suddenly, Sirius's voice is in his ear. "It's the full moon soon."

"I know," Remus replies. "But it's not as if I can just out and out leave." He imagines how that would turn out: _Sorry, everyone, but I'm a werewolf and it's imperative I leave before I turn into a bloodthirsty Dark creature. Have a lovely day and good luck with the Prime Minister!_

"James, Lily, and I have already got it covered. You just have to make sure you get hurt." Sirius's voice quiets even more. "Just try not to—you know—actually get hurt."

"Here come the Prewetts," announces Frank, noticing some kind of signal Remus had forgotten to look for. "Lily and James will stay here in case someone gets hurt. Alice and I will take the Prime Minister to the Ministry. Sirius, Remus, can you go and back up Marlene and Elphias?"

Sirius and Remus dodge out into the open, feeling the cool brush of the invisibility cloak on their way. Immediately, they begin to aim spells at the hooded Death Eaters, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible.

Marlene is fighting a man whose mask has fallen off. Remus registers him dimly as a Hufflepuff from his year but can't remember his name. Elphias is fighting off two of them at once, using petty schoolyard hexes. Jelly-legs probably won't get far against You-Know-Who but, interestingly, it seems to be working on the Death Eaters for now.

Remus aims _Petrificus totalus_ at the Death Eater attempting to sneak up on Marlene. Behind him, he hears Sirius crying out, "Remus!"

He turns around quickly. Two more Death Eaters are advancing on Sirius, who is already wrestling with someone who bears a striking resemblance to Severus Snape. Remus Stupefies the two anonymous Death Eaters, in time to hear Snape say a spell Remus doesn't recognize. Suddenly, blood begins to gush from Sirius's face and chest.

Angrier than he can remember being in a very long time, and with a sort of cruel vengeance that runs in Remus's veins just before the moon, he immediately turns on Snape. He doesn't even use his wand as he punches and kicks until Snape is a whimpering mass on the ground.

More members of the Order are fighting, now, and the Death Eaters are slowly retreating. Sirius is unconscious, now. Lily is running towards Remus and Sirius.

"Remus, come on, we've got to take him to St. Mungo's," and she conjures a stretcher. Together they lift Sirius up onto it and Disapparate with him.

"You idiot," Remus tells him as Lily hurriedly informs the front nurse of the emergency, "you weren't supposed to get hurt either."  


> _  
> 40\. Plant a tree and then come back in ten years to see how it's grown.  
> 41\. Get my fortune told, or possibly my palm read.  
> 42\. Buy a camera. Muggle, perhaps.  
> 43\. Vandalize a library book.  
> 44\. Give people normal presents. NOT. BOOKS. (!)  
> _

"Happy birthday to meeee!"

This is the song Remus wakes up to on Sirius's birthday. He hears the sound of clanging pans coming from the kitchen and smiles sleepily. Things have been tense between them, lately—between all him and all four of his friends, actually, since Dumbledore voiced his concerns that a traitor was in their midst—but this morning he is happy to hear Sirius ruining the birthday song by singing it to the tune of the funeral march.

Because of his injuries, Sirius has three more months before he has to go back to Auror training. He has been staying with Remus.

Remus yawns and not to get tangled in the sheets as he swings his feet over the edge of the bed. Sirius's gift has been hiding in the closet since Remus finished knitting it, and it is all neatly packaged up in brown paper and tied with a giant blue bow. Remus shuffles over to retrieve it and holds it underneath his arm as he makes his way towards the kitchen.

Sirius seems to be making himself a birthday mess. Remus grins at his boxers-clad figure from behind as he bends over the stove, whistling, to check on what smells like something most truly nauseating.

"Happy birthday, Padfoot," says Remus in a scratchy morning voice.

Sirius turns around, surprised, and beams. "Good morning, Moony! Do you want breakfast?"

Remus raises an eyebrow. "Tea would be nice."

"Tea it is, then!" replies Sirius cheerfully, and puts water on to boil. Remus smiles and retreats back into the living room and plops down onto the sofa. His flatmate joins him a moment later.

"Is that a present for me I see?" says Sirius, leaning his head on Remus's shoulder and reaching for the box. Remus notices the scars on Sirius's chest, a result of Snape's curse last month. He kisses Sirius's head.

"Indeed it is. Here you are."

Remus hands it over and, eagerly, Sirius opens the envelope attached. It is a letter, as rambly and idiotic as Remus could make it. It is a sixteen-page long letter and so he's not surprised when Sirius skips to the end to read the postscript. Remus hadn't written that part until late last night, while Sirius had been in the shower.

_P.S. I do, you know. That thing. I do, always._

Sirius smiles wide and sits up straight. "You do?" he asks.

"I do," replies Remus.

Sirius reaches for him. He cradles the back of his head and looks into Remus's eyes for a good long moment. Remus wonders what he is looking for, but he seems to find it because he smiles again and leans forward to kiss him thoroughly.

"I love you, my Moony," says Sirius. "I love you."

Sirius is so busy kissing him, everywhere, just like he'd promised once, that he seems to have forgotten about his present. Remus certainly has and doesn't remember until Sirius pushes him down on top of it.

"Ouch—wait, Padfoot, you've forgotten to open your present."

Sirius straightens, balancing on his knees. "Ooh, give it here." Remus gives it to him and he rips it open. He pulls out the blue-and-green scarf with a sort of wonder.

"You made this for me?"

Remus nods. Sirius wraps it carefully around his own neck and lifts his chin.

"How do I look?"

"Absolutely lovely."

Sirius refuses to take off the scarf for an entire week, not even when he and Remus are having sex. Remus doesn't really mind the scratch of the wool, anyway.  


> _  
> 45\. Sing karaoke in a public place.  
> 46\. Go to a nude beach.  
> 47\. Ride an elephant.  
> 48\. Get a pen pal from another country. I remember I had one when I was nine, that girl from Belgium, but it didn't last very long. I think that was mostly my fault, actually.  
> 49\. Learn the major constellations. The only things I know how to find are Orion's Belt, the Big Dipper, and Sirius.  
> _

He's expecting the sky to explode with spells and shouts at any moment, but the stars are quiet as they always are and the moon—ever so innocent-seeming when it is waning and diminutive, like an overbearing mother who once controlled every aspect of one's life—is the only light in the sky besides the distant colors of celebration in the village.

It is over, and Remus feels worse now than he ever had during the war.

His four best friends are gone, every one of them. Three to murder, one to betrayal. The only people who have, and probably ever will, accepted him, all of him, into their hearts without question and they're gone. Alice and Frank were sent to St. Mungo's nine days ago. His parents are gone, too, just last week: insignificant consequences of genocide. He forgot to check whether his mother had a flower in her hair when she was buried.

Remus feels disconnected from the truth, as if he is reading something tragic and Dickensian in flavor. Nobody is completely orphaned that quickly.

His neck, arms, and bare feet are itch as result of having been, for an entire three hours, lying on grass at the top of the hill in the village where he lives. He can't make his body move. He feels as dead as all his limbs seem to be.

He closes his eyes, painfully, and then opens them, painfully. He can see Sirius, the star. Remus turns his head to look for something else, but all he can find is the Big Dipper. And that, that reminds him of Sirius Black as much as Pollux and Castor, as much as Leo, as much as Orion's belt, as much as the fucking winter triangle.

His feet are freezing cold but he can't make himself put his shoes back on.

~*~

He pulls out the List a month later. It has become a list of impossibilities, and he adds one more.  


> _  
> 50\. Forgive him.  
> _

Fin.

**Author's Note:**

> Many many thanks to [](http://greensweaterlj.livejournal.com/profile)[**greensweaterlj**](http://greensweaterlj.livejournal.com/) for beta-ing and being generally awesome and gooosh I love her. Also many thanks to the posters at [](http://community.livejournal.com/thelifelist/profile)[**thelifelist**](http://community.livejournal.com/thelifelist/) because although they don't know it they helped a LOT. This is the very last fic I will post before the last book, weird.


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